


ACOSF drabbles

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Hi! This is going to be a new collection of small things I'm writing based on prompts, after A Court of Silver Flames has come out, so assume that there may be spoilers for that book.
Relationships: Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara, Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	1. Gwynriel - there's being brave, and there's being stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Ships will include gwynriel, moremerie, nessian, elucien, and non-canon ships.

Gwyn sat alone in the dining room, her forehead resting in her hands. The pages on the heavy oak desk before her had started to blur together hours ago, but she had a chapter to finish writing and she couldn’t even begin to do that until she’d taken the proper notes. 

Cauldron knew that Merrill would never accept a piece of work that didn’t take into account every possible piece of historical context, especially with the works they had access to. No matter how well written it was. Whether Gwyn had to keep working on it well into the night or no.

Near her right elbow, Gwyn spied the end of a shadow that behaved differently than the others around her. She blinked, wondering if the fading light of the day It curled around her arm, intrigued and intriguing. She smiled softly.

“What brings you to my side, Azriel?”

“Someone asked me to check on you, and remind you that you need to return those books to the library before it closes for the evening.” Az leaned against the rock wall, crossing his arms as he took her in. 

Gwyn took stock of her state. Disheveled hair, robes with the sleeves covered in ink, a puddle from where she had tipped over the inkwell earlier in her excitement, pages scattered in a mess that only she could understand and rearrange to a sense of order. 

“Someone?”

“A woman. Merrill?”

Gwyn nodded in grave understanding. “It was wise of you to heed her and come find me, then.”

Azriel sighed. “I don’t know, suppose I remind her that I have better things to do? That I’m not her priestess or acolyte?”

“There’s being brave, and there’s being stupid,” Gwyn countered. “And Merrill does not suffer the latter.”

“Well, the message has been received, I suppose. I can consider my task complete.” Az stayed in place against the wall. A clock ticked in the distance, informing them that it was nearing midnight. His eyes refused to move from her face and Gwyn felt herself begin to flush and quickly pushed the instinct aside. 

“So what are you really doing here, Az?” Gwyn cocked her head at him and smiled to watch him squirm.

“Checking on Cassian. My friend.”

It was as thin an excuse as Gwyn had ever heard, and they both smiled as they recognized it for what it was. When a moment passed in silence, and then another, she sighed and stood up. Gathering her papers around her, she said, “Sometimes, Az, being brave means taking a risk and acting stupid. Next time you think about running into Merrill on the off chance that she asks you to do her a _favor_ , maybe you should just be brave and come to me first.”

Az stayed in place against the wall, the shadows dancing around his back, playfully reaching out to Gwyn and then pulling back to spin around one another. 

Her arms full of leather-bound books and loose papers, Gwyn approached Az from his watch on the wall. She reached up with her free hand and twined her fingers around the shadows, letting them run along her wrist and palm, turning her hand so that they could wrap her in their darkness. When she dropped her hand to her side, they retreated to watch her, none of their joy diminished.

“I’ll see you later, shadowsinger,” she said, tossing him a wink as she left.


	2. Elucien - I never realized what a good dancer you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! Prompt: I never knew what a good dancer you are.

Elain twirled around the room with a symphony in her head and an armful of books. Her skirts swished around her legs she shelved them, alphabetical by author, books that taught she found useful when teaching the community the finer points of plant propagation and timetables for harvesting based on climate. 

She could have, by that point, asked one of the volunteers to shelve the books, or left them for the next morning. But Elain appreciated the quiet, the satisfaction that came from making the space tidy for the next group to come in for their weekly community gathering.

Her favorite part was the light, and the way that it cut through the windows and then fractured into softened shards of luminosity before the sun set for the evening. Elain hummed a song that she imagined befit the situation. Melodic and soothing, 

A soft noise came from the opposite end of the room, a clearing of the throat.

“High Lady.” Lucien leaned against a far wall, arms crossed and a glint in his eye.

Elain set her remaining books in a pile and curtsied. “High Lord.”

Lucien pushed against the wall and offered a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Elain drifted effortlessly into his arms and Lucien began to spin her around the room in a waltz. 

“How did things go today?”

Elain waited to respond until she was upright again, Lucien having dipped her nearly to the ground. She laughed as she pressed a hand against his chest and steadied herself before he took them around the room in another quick reverse turn.

“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Alis is going to bring her nephew next time, and his wife and their children.”

Lucien led Elain into an underarm turn before pulling her close again. 

“And you,” Elain asked. “How is courtly life?” 

“You’ll know next week.” Lucien returned them to a natural turn, Elain following his lead effortlessly. “But I’ll catch you up before then. In the meantime, dip.”

Elain felt vertigo as Lucien lowered her down, her back arching as she saw the world upside down, before he turned her upright. A rush went to her head and she didn’t know whether it was the dancing or her mate or the sunlight that had her breathless.

“I never realized what a good dancer you are,” she said. His dance had begun where her hummed song had left off, guiding them into the quiet of the evening that they would spend together in the comfort of their palatial home. 

“Well I never told you, did I, that I had dance lessons growing up?”

Elain leaned back and looked at him in surprise. “Really? I thought your time was spent on fashion, how to be a fine lord who gets his hands dirty without ruining the perfect crease of his lapels.”

“Yes,” Lucien admitted. “There was that. But I also spent a lot of time learning the art of seduction on the ballroom floor. In the event, you know, that I could gain one of my brothers an advantageous match.”

Their dance came to an end and Lucien pulled her close again. “Would you like me to teach you? Before the High Lord and Lady’s summit next week?”

“Teach me everything you have to share.”


	3. Nesta &  Rhys - oh, do you have a tragic backstory?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy! Prompt: oh, do you have a tragic backstory?

Nesta sat with legs crossed, a book propped in one hand while she held a cup of coffee in the other. A knock on the open door had her closing her book, saying, “You know, Feyre, the least you can do is be on time when we’re supposed to go shopping, especially when it’s for Elain’s bridal shower which you know is going to be…”

Her words died out as she spied Rhys’s form in the doorway. His wings were out, signal that he’d just flown up from Velaris. He brought in a cold breeze with him and Nesta signaled the fireplace to flare, ridding the room of it. 

“Oh. It’s you.” Nesta uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter. She set her book on the small table beside her, careful to set it away from the accumulated coffee stains. 

“It’s me,” Rhys acknowledged. “Feyre said she’ll meet you there. She asked me to take you down.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow and Rhys raised his hands in defense. “I know, you can walk. But she said she’d prefer if you don’t get sweaty on the way to some of the finer ateliers that the Night Court has to offer.”

“All right.” Nesta stood and brushed her skirts into place. “Let’s do this.” 

She held her arms out and looked in a distant corner of the room as if Rhys were merely a convenient vehicle. Which, she had to admit, he was at that moment.

“Um, Nesta?” 

“Yes?” 

“We should go to the balcony first.”

“Right.” Nesta spun on her heel and left the room without waiting for Rhys to follow. Out in the chill air, she uncrossed her arms and waited. 

Without a word Rhys hoisted Nesta into his arms and waited for her to settle into them. When she didn’t, he said, “Nesta, I can’t do this if you’re stiff as a log. Doesn’t Cassian ever fly you around?”

Nesta allowed her body to relax and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Fine. And yes.” 

They took off into the air and Nesta’s stomach sank. It was a feeling she’d never quite gotten used to, the sensation of soaring over the Sidra and the city, mountains in the distance with their snow-capped tops and miles of air between them, someone else’s wings and will the only thing between her and a sudden death. With Cassian, she trusted that he would die before he let anything happen. 

With Rhys, she hadn’t had the chance to test the theory. Being grateful for Nyx had only gone so far, and they had found themselves trading barbs more often than not. But now, Nesta had to acknowledge, there was a pleasing familiarity to their insults.

“You know, I never told you about the time I was learning to fly,” Rhys said as the drew closer to the city and her waiting sister.

“Oh, do you have a Tragic Backstory, then,” Nesta quipped. “Are you going to tell me all about it and make me reflect on the life I want to lead and the person I want to be?”

“Yes, I have a tragic backstory,” Rhys answered frankly. “Don’t we all?”

“I suppose so.” 

“That wasn’t the point, though,” Rhys said, resuming the conversation. 

“What was it, then?” Nesta shifted a bit at the thought of Rhys sharing something personal with her, and wondered if that was one of the goals of this surprise trip.

“I learned,” Rhys said, “That it’s always best to make sure that my hair is properly coiffed and secured before takeoff.”

They reached the ground before Nesta had a chance to answer, and when her feet hit the ground Rhys pointed to a doorway. “Inside, there is a mirror you can use, and a basin where you can freshen up. I’ll tell Feyre where you are.”


	4. Gwynriel - don't make promises you can't keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Don't make promises you can't keep. Please.

Gwyn twisted her jacket in her hands, her palms sweaty in excitement and anticipation. 

In the old stories, the ones she had researched for Merrill and pored over for herself, Valkyries were known for riding into battle and choosing who would live and die by their might alone. Herja had never regretted spending a moment of her life defending those who were unable to defend themselves, and neither would Gwyn. Sigrún walked onto killing fields like a Cauldron-blessed empress, never flinching from the sight of blood as she assessed the situation. Gwyn aspired to that sort of cool calculation as she practiced mind-stilling and worked with her polearm every morning.

Gwyn had decided a long time ago that it was the noblest calling she could have chosen for herself, to be a Valkyrie. The first real choice she had made for herself, and for the people she loved.

So why did she feel as if she were about to lose control? 

Azriel passed by the doorway of her bedroom, his heavy leather shoes making far less sound than they would have on another fae. He might have been trying to avoid her, to slip out undetected. But his shadows wouldn’t allow it, and they glided around the wood of the frame to alert her to his presence even as he tried to walk past without saying goodbye.

Gwyn jumped up and called his name, her voice strained. 

“Gwyn.” Az positioned himself in her doorway and stood straight, his feet hip-width apart, tightening the straps that held his siphons to his hands. 

“Are you leaving already?” 

“First light,” Az said, as if the time of day said enough for her to interpret the rest. A year ago, it might have left her puzzled. Now, she knew enough about his movements that she could have guessed at his battle strategy herself. 

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

Az’s eyes flickered to the floor before looking back up at her. He stopped securing his siphons and lowered his hands to his sides. 

“I may never see you again,” he answered.

“Is there a better time to say goodbye?” Gwyn wouldn’t deny the possibility that Azriel might die on the Continent, fighting the unforeseen forces that Koschei had assembled. And that she may die defending the Night Court, the land her High Lord had left in the hands of the Valkyries as he went to defend Prythian. 

“I suppose not,” Azriel considered.

Gwyn took a step towards him, then another, encouraged on by his shadows. 

When his hand reached up to stroke her cheek, it took all of Gwyn’s strength to stay upright. She pressed herself into the warmth of his palm, closing her eyes to concentrate all her attention on the sensation. With a sigh, she took one step closer until he could wrap his arms around her. 

He didn’t. Not at first. Not until Gwyn reached her hands up and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. Then his muscled arms wrapped around her waist and his hands rested on one another at the small of her back. Always just enough to tell her she was supported. And with just enough space to let her go if she requested. 

“I’ll wait for you. If you can wait for me.” Gwyn didn’t want it to come out as a question, but she couldn’t help the rising intonation of her voice. _Will you come back? Will you still be whole? Will you fight to return?_

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Please.” Azriel’s voice strained with the request.

Gwyn sighed and stroked his hair. “I don’t make promises. I make guarantees. And you’re mine, Az.” 

She kissed him softly, first on one cheek, then on another. In the space between his eyebrows where he had lines, his “worry furrows” as she called them. And finally on the mouth. They shared a breath for just a moment before coming together fully in desperate realization that they might not be able to return from this war, not together. Gwyn raised onto her toes and Azriel’s arms tightened around her waist, palms splayed to trace the contour of her hips and then up to her waist, stopping just short of her breasts because they both knew they didn’t have the time, and they knew they wouldn’t be able to leave one another if they let it get that far.

When they were both left panting for breath Gwyn put her hands on Azriel’s chest and put a small distance between them. She tasted his tears as they pulled apart and he straightened his clothing. 

“I’ll wait for you. I’ll return to you. ” 

Without waiting for her answer, Azriel turned and left. And Gwyn remained, wishing that she could count down the days until he returned, until her own battles were complete and the Night Court was safe, but knowing that she had so little control over her own fate.


	5. Elucien - You can't say that shit, we aren't playing Cards Against Humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some elucien fluff!

Cassian, Rhys, and Lucien jostled for space in Feyre and Rhys’s kitchen as Azriel transported plates back and forth from the dining room to the sink. 

Every month the men took care of the dishes after the women’s attempts at making dinner, and yet they could never figure out a system in which the kitchen ended up cleaner than it had started. Water on the floor, sopping kitchen towels, and a dishwasher stuffed passed capacity perpetually had Feyre groaning that they should just hire someone for all of it, from dinner to clean up.

By the time they had finished, Elain was asleep on the couch. Gwyn, Feyre, and Nesta were speaking in hushed voices punctuated by restrained laughter, and every bottle in the place had been emptied. 

“Elain is conked out,” Cassian said as he and the others rejoined the women in the living room. He held out a hand. “Time to go, sweetheart?” 

Nesta took his hand and unfolded her legs from beneath her to stand. She brushed her nose against his cheek in answer and turned to her family. “Next week,” she said to Feyre, referencing some plan they had made. 

Azriel and Gwyn gathered their things, Feyre disappeared to check on Nyx, and the party disbanded as it usually did - quietly, content in the knowledge that they would see one another again and that the worst was behind them.

When Lucien touched Elain’s shoulder she sat up rubbing her face. 

“I’m not asleep,” she said, blinking. She pushed her hair back from her face and Lucien smiled at the line pressed into her face from the throw pillow she had fallen asleep on.

“Of course not, dearest. Everyone else was exhausted, they’ve taken off.”

Elain looked around the comfortable living room as if she would find her family there despite what Lucien said. “Oh, they must have drunk too much.”

“Yes, that’s surely it.” Lucien placed her coat on her shoulders as she stood and made her way to the door. He noted the full glass of wine on the table where she’d been sitting as they left and imagined that her tolerance must have lessened of late.

Once in the chilly night air, Elain seemed to perk up again and become alive. “Next month,” she said, leaning into Lucien for warmth, “I think I’ll make a pavlova and bring it to dinner. Or perhaps I should make it in Feyre’s kitchen. I’ve never tried one, and they do look impressive.”

“I’ve never had one either,” Lucien answered.

“Really?” Elain looked up at him, eyes glowing and curious. 

“Really. I’d be delighted to try one for the first time ever if it were made by my wife. Though you might need to let me have some at home first, just practice on me or something.” 

“Yes,” Elain said, “I should perhaps practice it first. Maybe this week.”

“Perfect. One of these days I might have to fight Azriel and Cassian and Rhys for wanting to take you for their own. Your pavlova might be the thing that breaks their resolve. We’d have to call in the President to intervene, there’d be a threat to national security, they’d outlaw all bakery projects from leaving the house on account of making men covetous of others’ wives.” 

Elain gripped his arm as she laughed quietly, trying to keep from breaking the evening silence.

“I think that if I were to challenge them to a writing challenge, I’d win. Only if it were to write erotica, though. I know that Cassian reads all of Nesta’s books but I still think I’d have him beat if we were asked to write smutty Twilight fanfic. I might be able to write some good Mario Kart fanfic, though I’m not sure about the smut. It could be a real battle, you know. I might have to get my shirtsleeves wrinkled.”

“Lucien, you can’t say shit like that. We aren’t playing Cards Against Humanity.” Elain laughed despite her protests and pulled him closer, hugging his arm before letting him go. 

Lucien spun on his heels and faced Elain, walking backwards and he spoke. “What if you and I go away, just for a while?”

“How long is a while?”

Lucien hummed in mock contemplation. 

Elain raised her eyebrows. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Only a few weeks,” Lucien confessed.

Elain grabbed his arm and turned him around, a near-miss with a light post. 

His arm draped over her shoulders, Lucien continued to hum in thought. “Well, you see my love, I was thinking that we’re overdue for a vacation somewhere sunny.”

Elain scoffed. “I think we get enough sun, darling, living in Day.”

“Yes,” Lucien agreed, “But what about sunlight on the Continent? We could visit their topiaries, their estuaries, their aviaries. It would be grand.”

“The Continent...” Elain stopped walking and touched her stomach. It had been so long since he’d seemed this light, this unburdened. 

Lucien turned and tilted his head at her. “You don’t like birds? Or is it the trees? I’m sure their rivers are quite nice.”

A small smile stole across Elain’s face and Lucien’s bloomed in response, even before he realized why. 

“Perhaps we should go somewhere closer to home,” she said. “At least for the time being.”

“Yes,” Lucien said in answer. He gripped her hands.

“I’m sure I’d like to see the shrubbery on the Continent,” Elain continued, “But I think I’d much rather meet our child, first.”


End file.
